The Privileged Pianist

Today, people in multiple countries around the world are (at best) food insecure or (at worst) starving to death. Today, millions of human beings are terrorized, raped, or killed. Today, even in my comfortable Midwestern city, a teenager will pick up a gun and shoot someone, a mother will bury a child, and hundreds of people who live within miles of me will worry about how to pay the rent or put groceries on the table. This story repeats every day.

I’ve written quite a bit about how challenging it is to make a living as a musician. Even before the pandemic, jobs were few and competition was keen. Recently, however, as I read news and stories from around the globe, I’m reminded of how privileged pianists are. Regardless of how humble our upbringing, most of us had parents or guardians who could afford to purchase a piano and pay for instruction. Instead of working in a sweatshop, we sweated over Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms. We had access to recordings and live concerts. We were affluent enough to worry more about piano recitals than having enough to eat. 

To own a piano, to have the resources to pay for years of instruction, to have the time and focus to devote to hours of practicing, to spend years of our lives in the company of the notes and minds of great composers—this is privilege. To have the freedom to choose to make music, to have an able body and sharp mind, to have ready access to recordings from all over the globe—this is privilege. Yes, someone else always has it better. Someone else received access to top-level instruction, better instruments, more talent, higher intellect. But many, many other “someones” have it worse. 

In my career, I’ve had the opportunity to work with a good number of extremely wealthy people. Almost every one of them, when pressed, believe that they don’t have “real” money, and that so-and-so next door is truly wealthy while they’re just “getting by.” It seems to be a human trait to spend our time looking at what we don’t have rather than acknowledging what we do enjoy. Our current Society of Snark only reinforces this. In today’s world, it is deeply unsophisticated and privileged to choose gratitude over complaint.

But here’s the thing: my sense of deprivation will do nothing to help those with less. If anything, living with a perpetual sense of deprivation makes me blind to others’ suffering because all I’m focused on myself and my own sense of lack. One of the most powerful things I can do is to not just acknowledge my privilege, but to remind myself of it every single day. Because when I acknowledge how much I’ve been given, I feel enough abundance to share these gifts with others around me. It’s not complicated; it just takes a shift in perspective: all it requires is choosing to be grateful.

Happy Thanksgiving.